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FANDANGO & OTHER STORIES

Strange and memorable. Students of modern literature should greet this as if discovering hidden treasure.

A trove of centrifugal stories by long-forgotten Soviet writer Grin.

Grin, ne Grinevsky, was born in a town in north-central Russia where exiles were dispatched in the czarist era; his father was a Polish-born detainee. As soon as he could, he made for Odessa, worked in the port and at sea, and joined the Social Revolutionary Party. Sent out on a mission of assassination, Grin had second thoughts, a matter at the heart of the first story here, “Quarantine,” written in 1907. Claustrophobic and full of the anxiety that “was like someone else’s bothersome cargo, which could not be unloaded until it had been dragged to a certain point,” it resolves in uncertainty: The narrator will not kill anyone that day, but what he’ll do the next is an open question. Other stories are specimens from what Soviet critics called “Grinlandia,” an exotic South Seas–like location where people call guests “Señor”—and some of those inhabitants are in fact exiled convicts, such as the founder of the titular “Lanphier Colony,” who “issued phrase after phrase, [which], correctly divided by invisible punctuation marks, evaporated into the air, like clouds of smoke released methodically by an inveterate smoker.” Some of Grin’s fantasies must have seemed unbearable to contemporary readers, like his imagining of a vast banquet, discovered by the protagonist of the story “The Rat-Catcher,” consisting of cheeses, cakes, eggs, and “hams, sausages, cured tongues, and minced turkey,” all from a story written in 1924, a time of deprivation after civil war. Other of the stories are surpassingly strange, then and now, set in imaginary places “well clear of any shipping lanes,” that are redolent of Poe and Verne and whose happenings sometimes reach into the distant future, as in the title story: “I saw those same magic-eyed travelers, the kind this very city will see in the year 2021, when our progeny…will alight the cabin of his electric automobile onto the surface of an aluminum aerial causeway."

Strange and memorable. Students of modern literature should greet this as if discovering hidden treasure.

Pub Date: Jan. 7, 2020

ISBN: 978-0-231-18977-4

Page Count: 312

Publisher: Columbia Univ.

Review Posted Online: Oct. 20, 2019

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 1, 2019

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THE SECRET HISTORY

The Brat Pack meets The Bacchae in this precious, way-too-long, and utterly unsuspenseful town-and-gown murder tale. A bunch of ever-so-mandarin college kids in a small Vermont school are the eager epigones of an aloof classics professor, and in their exclusivity and snobbishness and eagerness to please their teacher, they are moved to try to enact Dionysian frenzies in the woods. During the only one that actually comes off, a local farmer happens upon them—and they kill him. But the death isn't ruled a murder—and might never have been if one of the gang—a cadging sybarite named Bunny Corcoran—hadn't shown signs of cracking under the secret's weight. And so he too is dispatched. The narrator, a blank-slate Californian named Richard Pepen chronicles the coverup. But if you're thinking remorse-drama, conscience masque, or even semi-trashy who'll-break-first? page-turner, forget it: This is a straight gee-whiz, first-to-have-ever-noticed college novel—"Hampden College, as a body, was always strangely prone to hysteria. Whether from isolation, malice, or simple boredom, people there were far more credulous and excitable than educated people are generally thought to be, and this hermetic, overheated atmosphere made it a thriving black petri dish of melodrama and distortion." First-novelist Tartt goes muzzy when she has to describe human confrontations (the murder, or sex, or even the ping-ponging of fear), and is much more comfortable in transcribing aimless dorm-room paranoia or the TV shows that the malefactors anesthetize themselves with as fate ticks down. By telegraphing the murders, Tartt wants us to be continually horrified at these kids—while inviting us to semi-enjoy their manneristic fetishes and refined tastes. This ersatz-Fitzgerald mix of moralizing and mirror-looking (Jay McInerney shook and poured the shaker first) is very 80's—and in Tartt's strenuous version already seems dated, formulaic. Les Nerds du Mal—and about as deep (if not nearly as involving) as a TV movie.

Pub Date: Sept. 16, 1992

ISBN: 1400031702

Page Count: 592

Publisher: Knopf

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 1, 1992

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  • National Book Critics Circle Finalist


  • Pulitzer Prize Winner

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THE ROAD

A novel of horrific beauty, where death is the only truth.

Awards & Accolades

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  • National Book Critics Circle Finalist


  • Pulitzer Prize Winner

Even within the author’s extraordinary body of work, this stands as a radical achievement, a novel that demands to be read and reread.

McCarthy (No Country for Old Men, 2005, etc.) pushes his thematic obsessions to their extremes in a parable that reads like Night of the Living Dead as rewritten by Samuel Beckett. Where much of McCarthy’s fiction has been set in the recent past of the South and West, here he conjures a nightmare of an indeterminate future. A great fire has left the country covered in layers of ash and littered with incinerated corpses. Foraging through the wasteland are a father and son, neither named (though the son calls the father “Papa”). The father dimly remembers the world as it was and occasionally dreams of it. The son was born on the cusp of whatever has happened—apocalypse? holocaust?—and has never known anything else. His mother committed suicide rather than face the unspeakable horror. As they scavenge for survival, they consider themselves the “good guys,” carriers of the fire, while most of the few remaining survivors are “bad guys,” cannibals who eat babies. In order to live, they must keep moving amid this shadowy landscape, in which ashes have all but obliterated the sun. In their encounters along their pilgrimage to the coast, where things might not be better but where they can go no further, the boy emerges as the novel’s moral conscience. The relationship between father and son has a sweetness that represents all that’s good in a universe where conventional notions of good and evil have been extinguished. Amid the bleakness of survival—through which those who wish they’d never been born struggle to persevere—there are glimmers of comedy in an encounter with an old man who plays the philosophical role of the Shakespearean fool. Though the sentences of McCarthy’s recent work are shorter and simpler than they once were, his prose combines the cadence of prophecy with the indelible images of poetry.

A novel of horrific beauty, where death is the only truth.

Pub Date: Oct. 2, 2006

ISBN: 0-307-26543-9

Page Count: 288

Publisher: Knopf

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 15, 2006

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